


Plant Snake and Snake Plant

by Bluethenstaub



Series: Dried flowers, pressed between book pages [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 14:56:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14107812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluethenstaub/pseuds/Bluethenstaub
Summary: Crowley gets Aziraphale a plant.





	Plant Snake and Snake Plant

Crowley wasn't even his type.

Aziraphale glanced at the young man who was entering his shop. He was beautiful, that was for sure.

But when did he start to like men with piercings?

Snake Bites, Crowley had called them. They suited him really well. In Aziraphale’s opinion, they made Crowley’s beautiful lips even more kissable. Not that he only enjoyed his company for some sweet kisses. No, this relationship was more than that.

When did he start to like men who wore band shirts?

He never did. This was actually a good reason to undress Crowley, even though their relationship hadn’t progressed that far yet. Okay, Crowley had only two band shirts, both for his favourite band, Queen. Aziraphale had never even heard of this band before. Crowley had been so shocked when they talked about this, he had dropped his piece of cake. Of course, Crowley had introduced him to the music right away. Aziraphale had found a liking for it. He didn't love it as much as Crowley did, but he’d caught himself more than once softly humming the melody of one of their songs while going about his day. He hadn't shared this information with Crowley, yet.

When did he start to like men who didn't own a hairbrush?

Alright, he wasn't sure about this point. He had never seen Crowley brush his hair. They weren't at a stage in their relationship where one slept over at the other's place. But still, his hair always looked unbrushed. It stood up in all directions, looking as if Crowley had just left his bed. It looked nice, though. Aziraphale felt the urge to bury his hands in Crowley’s soft and full hair way too often.

And, most importantly, when did he start to like men who used old book pages as a wrapping for flowers?

It wasn't as if he didn't appreciate Crowley’s idea, it certainly was nice. Wasn't plastic quite bad for Mother Nature? He vaguely remembered hearing this in a documentary he had watched several weeks ago, back in September or October. Aziraphale liked the different paper wrappings. Crowley had shown him pictures. But using old book pages? That went too far, even for Aziraphale. _Especially_ for Aziraphale. This was an absolute no-go for him. The newspaper? Yes. Books? No. Books were made to be read not to support weeds.

Currently, Crowley was standing on the other side of the counter, sucking nervously on one of his piercings.

They had arranged to meet for dinner today after work. It was Crowley’s turn to pick out a restaurant and to pick up Aziraphale from his bookshop.

Instead of being his usual suave self he tried to show to the public, Crowley was really nervous, Aziraphale had noticed. He was standing at the counter, eyes burning deep holes into the back of Aziraphale’s head. At least, he thought Crowley was staring at his head. You never knew with those sunglasses. He didn't fumble with his hands the way he usually did when he was nervous. Aziraphale noticed this out of the corner of his eye as he put away some books while closing his shop for the day.

Crowley was holding a pot filled with one of his greens. The pot itself was wrapped in one of Crowley’s papers, one of his newest acquisitions. It had different quotes written all over it. Crowley had gotten it after Aziraphale had given him a friendly lecture why he should not use book pages. Quotes were much more appropriate.

Aziraphale would read the quotes later and discover that they were by Oscar Wilde. He would smile to himself, telling himself to be much nicer to Crowley in the future. Aziraphale had only mentioned once, in passing, that Oscar Wilde was one of his favourite authors, and yet Crowley had remembered it.

“What's on your mind?” he asked, putting away the last book.

“Nothing,” Crowley mumbled. He had this bad habit of mumbling whenever he was nervous. “I brought you a flower.”

“It's lovely, my dear. But I have little use for a flower in my shop, I would just kill it. This would be a waste of your present. You better keep it and take care of it for me, alright?” This wasn't even a lie. He preferred his plants as books. Sometimes his head was so in the clouds, he would even ignore his own child crying, he was sure. If he ever had a child.

“You didn't even look at it.” Crowley sounded disappointed. Aziraphale didn't have time to look at it, he was working!

“I did.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. For a moment he was glad he wasn't facing Crowley. He probably looked like a kicked puppy right now.

“What does it look like?” Crowley asked sharply.

“It's green and it has leaves.”

“Sure. What colour are the petals?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. He had no idea, he didn't care. He didn't want the flower. Neither in his shop nor in his home. “Red.” He vaguely remembered Crowley mentioning that he liked flowers with red petals best.

“See? I told you, you didn't look.”

Aziraphale sighed and turned around, eyes fixed on the flower. It didn't have any petals. It was a bunch of spiky, green leaves, yellow at the edges. “Oh,” he said.

“You shouldn't lie to me.”

“That doesn't change anything. I still have no use for it.”

“What do you think you do with a flower? Take it out for a walk?”

“Stop joking, Crowley.”

“Let me tell you what you're going to do with it. You have this nice little shelf over there.” He pointed at it. “I'm going to take the plant and put it there. And in two weeks when realize you have to dust your cookbooks again, you’re going to look over there and  you're going to see it. And you're going to remember that you haven't watered it in weeks, and you're going to give it water. It will be happy and you will be pleased with yourself. You’ll both go back to your lives until you repeat it all a few weeks later. And since you're both stubborn men, you'll both still be in this shop when you're 90 years old.”

“What?” Sometimes every word that Crowley said was utter nonsense.

“I’ve known you for more than three days, Aziraphale. I know what kind of flower you need. You need something you don’t have to take care of and that’s hard to kill. And since I don’t like plastic flowers, I got you a snake plant,” Crowley said as he walked over to Aziraphale’s cookbook section. “Disgusting. You _really_ should dust some more over here.”

“Snake plant,” Aziraphale repeated.

“Yes, that’s one of its names.” He placed the pod on the shelf and stepped back, examining his work.

“You really like snakes.”

“I’m quite fond of them.”

“I still don't think it's a good idea.”

“It is.” Crowley walked back to Aziraphale.”Do you need much longer?”

“I have to count the money.”

“Huh. Did you sell anything today?” Crowley placed himself on the counter, dangling with his legs. He pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. Now he looked even more as if he had just woken up.

“I run a bookshop, my dear.”

“It's more like your private library.”

Aziraphale glared at Crowley. It was true, but he shouldn't say it.

“So, how about this: you kiss me, then you take care of your little paper Queens, then we kiss some more, and then we go and fill that empty hole of yours.”

“Stop referring to my stomach as ‘my empty hole’, Anthony.”

Crowley smiled sheepishly. “So?”

“You should be glad that I can't resist your smile.” Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s sides and pulled him closer.

Crowley’s smile widened and got softer. “You should be glad that I'm such a good kisser.” He closed the distance between them and kissed him.

Crowley was right. He was a really good kisser and Aziraphale was glad for it. He’d been longing for his lips since the moment they parted ways yesterday. He couldn't concentrate on anything else all day. The thought of Crowley, his soft lips, his skilled tongue, his beautiful smile, his cute laugh, and his pleasant smell had always been on his mind, no matter what he was doing.

Yes, maybe Aziraphale had never thought that someone like Crowley was his type, but he was falling deeper in love with him every day.

**Author's Note:**

> Plastic fact #2: The average EU citizen produces 37kg plastic trash per year.  
> Plastic fact #3: It's 31kg plastic per person in Germany.  
> Plastic fact #4: That's 29% more than in 2005.


End file.
